


The Cards We Are Dealt

by Mythonik



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Developing Relationship, Implied Relationships, Magic, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-03 03:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12739779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythonik/pseuds/Mythonik
Summary: With the threat of war between the House of Hearts and the House of Diamonds looming over their heads, the Royal Pair of Spades find themselves between the razor edge of a battle sword and the merciless abyss of sovereign ruin when a conspiracy of civil unrest is exposed. Treaties must be honored, sides must be chosen, and loyalty over integrity is put to the test when a choice must be made that has as much power to save them as it has to ruin them - all while keeping their heads and those of their people's above the cold waters of Death.Welcome to the Kingdom of Spades.





	The Cards We Are Dealt

**Author's Note:**

> Well... I have a collection of stories planned out, but I had to get this out first.
> 
> Enjoy!

David was five-years-old when his blood father died. 

He had been watching the live broadcast of the King's speech in the family room through an old and rickety television that filtered everything through a static haze when it had happened. Curious green eyes observed the way the monarch in the dark blue coat had paused, swayed in place like his block towers did when he built them too-tall-but-too-thin, and crumpled the way a tissue puppet did when its strings were cut in front of the cameras. He saw the death of the kingdom’s leader eight seconds after the transmission had been terminated, eight seconds after the rest of the world in the sputtering television that was always eight seconds behind.

David was six and a half when the old man who had raised him passed. The village doctor who came to the dilapidated home three days later said he had died in his sleep, choked on his own sick due to the chronic pneumonia withering his lungs - the little boy had understood next to nothing, only nodding when the important man would pause his words to look at him.

He was alone in the dusty home, a fresh mound of dirt sticking out like a sore-thumb outside against the green grass, when the official men in grey uniforms and one in fancy, royal blue drapes came to the door a week after the doctor. One look from knowing brown eyes had been enough for them to whisk him away - away from the dusty home and away from the unmarked resting place of the nameless man who been more of a father than his real one. The area between his shoulder blades had begun to ache then.

David was seven when he met the girl who would be the future Jack of Spades in the palace’s gardens. 

“Who are you?” She had demanded, mouth frowning in confusion with a hint of distrust.

“I’m the king’s son,” he had replied, eyes trained on the crystal clear pond in front of them. 

“The king didn’t have kids,” she had refuted, arms crossed and an already intense gaze boring into him.

“None that he didn't want,” David had hummed, crouching along the edge of the water to get a closer look at the cygnet paddling after the adult goose. 

The future Jack’s name was Gwen and she became his first friend.

David and Gwen were both eight when the current Jack, their head tutor in all things royal, grew sick. The children were not permitted entry to the room, but after night fell and curfew passed, they would slip from their beds and sneak into his chambers. They would whisper what they had learned that day from the substitute tutors, recite prose necessary for their education as royals, and demonstrated proper responses to scenarios the old Jack would create. 

David was nine when he met the boy in the woods whose hands burned blue yet skin remained pale. He had been exploring the forest behind the palace after having slipped the guards’ hawkish eyes, looking for a particular herb the village curator had once said would help with swollen throats when he saw him. The boy had been wearing an off-white nightgown that came down to just below his knees, blond hair ruffled and feet bare to the cool earth. Long and loose sleeves had covered his arms, making him look more like a phantom than a living human.

“Who are you?” The pale boy had asked, head tilting to one side and staring eyes wide.

“I’m the king’s son,” David had replied, looking at the blue flames gently licking the other’s fingers.

“The bastard one?” The blond whispered, hand reaching for the future King.

David nodded solemnly, fingers meeting the burning palm and feeling the coolness of the fire that lacked heat. Their hands interlaced, and the flames spread to bathe his own hand. 

“The bastard one.”

David was nine and a half when he finally snuck his second new friend from the woods into the palace. Gwen had been skittish, staring at the blue fire in trepidation and pulling David away from him the moment they reached the Jack’s room. The future King did not mind, knowing how apprehensive his friend was of strangers, and had watched in silence as his friend had approached the sick man, naked feet pattering mutely against the cold floor. 

“Who are you?” The Jack had croaked, wary of the young stranger in the nightgown. 

“The king’s friend,” was his response, blue irises flashing briefly and little palms settling over the sick one’s chest. “You are dying.”

The Jack nodded slowly, a heavy sigh burrowing exhaustion deep into his old bones.

“Indeed I am,  _ veela _ .”

David was ten when he learned his second friend’s real name the same day the Jack had finished the road to recovery. The blond had been given permission by the Grand Council to remain on palace grounds, or so the Jack had excused, mumbling something about ‘Adviser training’ before wandering off. David had taken him to the pond whilst Gwen met her tutors to watch the old goose mingle with the adult swan’s cygnets. 

“Who are you?” David had asked for once, tossing seeds into the water and smiling at the cygnets waddling closer. 

“I’m your friend,” the blond had replied, legs folded under him, dirty nightgown gone and replaced by a simple tunic of the same color.

“I know, but who are  _ you _ ?” 

His stressed words had been met by silence, and when he had turned to look at his partner, he noticed the way the ever-present flames on his hand flickered out and his eyes turned sad. 

“I… I’m Daniel,” he finally whispered, tone soft and quiet, nigh melancholic. 

“Why are you sad?” 

“No one’s ever asked who _ I _ was before. Only  _ what _ .”

David was fifteen when the Grand Council had summoned him and his companions to stand before them. Gwen had wondered if the old Queen had finally kicked it, and Daniel had proposed maybe she had lost her Ink Mark. David had only laughed and rolled his shoulders, the ache on his upper back making itself known once again after almost a decade.

David was fifteen and a half when they all completed their royal training. They had celebrated in the privacy of the gardens by watching Daniel weave flames into wreaths of pale blue and ringlets of gold with his magicks. Magicks that would get him through military school, he had said. 

David was seventeen when the old Jack finally died. He was there when Gwen had her breakdown an hour prior to being sworn into her destined position in the Royal Court before the entirety of the Kingdom of Spades. He had pet her mess of a hair, murmuring words of comfort to drown the raging doubts she had whispered against herself. The frantic breathing and harsh trembling had eased into an exhausted calm, and they had laughed together when they had attempted to fix Gwen’s hair back into the neat bun it had been set in before she had yanked her fingers through it.

David was eighteen and a half when Daniel had sought him out one night, a few months following his return from the military school the Council had sent him to. The future King had awoken to find the blond perched on the loveseat near the unlit fireplace of his room, staring out the balcony glass doors and appearing at ease were it not for the churning glow of pale blue irises. 

“Daniel?” He had called, sleep addled and confused. “What're you doing?”

He had heard more than seen the future thought-to-be Adviser swallow thickly before those glowing eyes shifted to him.

“David, how did you…” he had paused, collecting himself and clearing his throat before trying again. “How did you know when you were chosen as King?”

“By the Ink Mark...?” He hesitated, thinking back on the musty little home with the lagging old television and falling tissue puppets. “It was… it appeared a week after the King’s death. Why do you ask?”

The warlock had not replied, only furrowed his brows and curled hands that lacked fire into trembling fists over his lap. 

“Daniel?”

The voice had been so quiet that he thought it the Autumn wind whistling outside the balcony doors. 

“I think I have an Ink Mark.” 

David was eighteen and a half when the discovery of Daniel's Ink Mark was made by a court physician. He and Gwen had been discussing what could be done about the steady fall in produce exports when a shrill scream had startled them to the floor.

“That sounded like the Queen.” One of them had pointed out before they unanimously stood and ran like men possessed to the source with guards hounding their heels.

“How can this be!” The Queen had been shrieking once they barged into what was a bedroom, round face blossoming red blotches of frustration on equally round cheeks. Her arm had swung in the direction of the silent blond sitting shirtless upon the bed, a thick quilt over his shoulders to save him a shred of dignity and ward off the room's heavy chill. “This, this  _ abomination _ has no place in the Spades’ Court! I will not allow for archaic magic to poison our kingdom’s soul!”

The doctor had been trying to placate her when Gwen finally stepped in, the guards behind her stepping back and out of the room for privacy's sake, shutting the heavy wooden door after them. 

“What's going on here, Doctor?”

The man in white had turned from the older woman, who was left momentarily stunned at the dismissal, and inclined his head respectfully to the younger one. “Your Highness, it appears the young Lord of the Wilds has… well, pardon my boldness but I think it better to show rather than tell, if I am being quite honest.”

David and Gwen had briefly exchanged glances, one confused and the other already suspecting what they'd find, before they approached the still quiet warlock and noted the way his hands were gripping the edges of the blanket like claws. 

“Is everything alright with the lord?” The Jack asked, referring by title and not name as she had been taught years before. 

The Queen had given an undignified snort then and scowled bitterly from her spot by the window, but she held her silence at their looks. The doctor shook his bald head and motioned for the Lord of the Wilds to lift his right arm. He complied, face still hidden but ears burning red. Either from shame or anger or humiliation, they didn't know.

Any questions they had fell flat when their eyes laid upon the root of the problem: a tattoo the size of an apple stamped against the pale flesh of his rib cage. Vines and thorns made of ink formed a gossamer spider’s web for an intricately looping spade to nestle on, an elegant ‘Q’ sealed in white against black as if made with a calligraphy quill.

Shock had given way to wordless understanding, and the doctor sent for both an artist and an archivist as David and Gwen bid Daniel a goodnight. Noncommittal humming followed them out the door.

David was nineteen when the Rotten Queen died. Not many mourned her loss. Citizens rejoiced when word that the new King would replace the old ways reached their cities and towns. Gwen had joked that she would finally have the opportunity to laze around with David coming into the kingdom’s helm, and Daniel had hid the fine white powder with the acrid smell under lock and key. 

David was nineteen and a half when he was crowned King of Spades in front of millions of spectators, when he asked for the Lord of the Wilds hand in matrimony following the disclosure of his true status, when their wedding became the largest televised event both nationally and internationally.

The tale of two childhood friends who grew up together only to marry once adulthood came strolling into their lives was a fairy-tale story that stirred hearts amongst the people if the sung praises were anything to go by, which were the exact results the three had finely orchestrated to happen. Kings and Queens married for political alliance, feelings seldom taken into account once reality ripped the veil of ignorance from loving fool's eyes, so it had been a wild spin to an inevitable event that Gwen had brought to their attention one night in their secluded parlor to gain the people's favor. 

David was twenty-one when the boy with the foulest mouth had been dropped off at the gates of the palace in the middle of the night. Gwen had sighed in tired exasperation, Daniel had barely masked his displeasure behind a grin, and David had smiled when the seven-year-old boy had yelled profanities at them from the iron hold the guards had on his arms. The flash of a dark splotch in one of the child's flailing limbs had the Court in a frenzy come morning.

David was twenty-four when Max, now ten, had been officially recognized by the Grand Council as the Ace of Spades.

David was twenty-four when the sins of his father returned to haunt him.

**Author's Note:**

> I still don't know where this story will go, so let's hope motivation comes and I'll continue this. Kudos and comments would be appreciated! [Read this post to better understand the basics of this card universe!](http://mythonik.tumblr.com/post/167752522641/card-kingdom-au-kings-ruler-of-the-kingdom)


End file.
